Title: A Virgin of Choice, Part IV
      Author: Veronica
      Author’s E-mail: vast_cool_and_unsympathetic@yahoo.com
      Pairings: F/S, F/OC
      Rating: NC-17 (Warning: includes non-con, coercion, etc.)
      Summary: Part three of my story, based on a plot bunny sent forth by Nienora; 
after Frodo is rescued, details come out on why the investigation into it was halted. Sam 
and the others have to deal with the aftermath as Frodo has apparently gone into madness 
over his torments and the facts behind the murder of Griffin’s servant; the results crush 
Sam’s heart, while another tries to work on mending both Sam AND Frodo.
      Author’s note: This has been a REAL doozy to write. All of it has been writ in the 
course of 48 hours, give or take a few, and it’s almost 5 am with me having to be at work 
in 3 ½ hours. Hoo boy.
      This is what I believe is some of my most tense and stomach turning work. Ser-
ee-us-lee.
      
      
      
      Sam rode his pony along with Pippin, Merry, and Fatty into Hobbiton. He felt 
blank and full of despair during the long ride home, unsure on whether he wanted to see 
Frodo or not. From what his cousins had told him of their quick glimpse through the 
doors of the small healer’s hut in Bree where the Rangers had taken him to, he was scared 
out of his wits.
      “I didn’t even recognize him,” Pippin had blankly told him the morning of him 
finding them all huddled in the bed, his eyes staring at some spot on the floor Sam 
couldn’t see. “I’ve come back after a whole year of not seeing him and not noticed much 
of a change. Given three days where he was and… do you remember… that fox we’d 
found in your field…”
      Merry had told him to stop talking before he had the chance to describe the poor 
creature they’d come across during the day, where normally he should have been off 
sleeping in his den. But animals gone feral were thrown off their minds and senses and 
sent into madness, frothing at the mouth and attacking anything that crossed their path. 
Sam remembered his Gaff striking it with one hard and accurate blow with his staff to its 
head, knocking it dead before it had the chance to scratch or bite either Sam, Pippin or 
Fatty as they ran up screaming to the hole. No matter Merry’s silencing of Pippin into 
continuing with such gruesome details, all Sam could do was picture Frodo having to be 
tied down and stayed away from, his Gaff’s staff rising…
      Sam clenched his eyes shut, almost toppling off his pony as he did so when it 
bumped over a small ridge in the road. The healer’s hut was ahead of them now, where 
Frodo had been sent along with some of the fastest horses Bree could provide them with. 
It was the least they could do after putting off Frodo’s rescue for nothing more than 
signatures and allowances given to the Rangers.
      It bit Sam hard at this; the Ranger that had stayed with them that morning after 
Frodo being found, only giving the name of Herr for himself to them had explained about 
the problems they’d faced, even in knowing what had happened the very afternoon Frodo 
arrived in Bree with his captors. How or why they knew was beyond Sam, but they knew, 
and that was all that had mattered. “They didn’t believe us.” Herr had explained, going 
into more tales of waiting for the mayor to make the declaration clear to go ahead and 
take in that Griffin Miller for what he’d done, to make sure they had at least two 
witnesses from the town that had seen them with their own eyes, not relying on the 
Ranger’s accounts of what had happened no matter how many came forward with the 
information. That night however they chose not to wait any longer after coming across 
the four panic stricken hobbits, and went ahead with the intervention and apprehension of 
that horrid, disgusting bastard… and all he wanted, so forcefully his insides ached from 
the want was to hold Frodo gently in his arms, and he argued bitterly for it…
      “I want to see him!!”
      “Samwise, that’s not the best idea; for you or Frodo,”
      “Who are you to tell me that?? He’s known me since I was born!!”
      “That’s exactly why, Samwise, because he won’t know you.”
      “YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!!!”
      Another ranger going by the name of Strider had been waiting in the hallway to 
divert any sort of unwanted attention from the rest of the building or anyone dropping in. 
He heard Sam’s cries and offered to take him by the healer. “Not to go in, Samwise. You 
can’t see him, but I’ll let you go near to his room for a few moments. I think you’ll see 
then why these denials have been made against you in seeing him.”
      He would never forget… the sheer horror of whoever was screaming in there, as 
if they’d been ripped apart by rabid wolves. The slurred curse words in Elvish directed at 
whoever had gone in the room, nursemaid or healer… Sam sat on the small bench 
provided for him outside the room, listening with full-fledged terror in his face, the 
Ranger standing across from him with his back to the wall, arms crossed, face downcast 
to stare at the floor. They said nothing on their way back to the boarding house. The 
Ranger only left him with two words before leaving him at the room’s door: “To rest,” 
then the handing of a small parcel, filled with herbs even Sam couldn’t recognize. But it 
had provided them all with a full pot of tea, along with a full afternoon and evening’s 
worth of sound, undisturbed sleep. 
      His pony stopped with the others at the hut. Sam looked up and found his Gaffer 
sitting on the small swing outside, not bothering to rock back and forth in comfort. He 
stared at Sam a few moments before turning away to light his pipe. Sam didn’t pay any 
mind; he didn’t care. He’d tell his Gaff later on how stupid he’d been, how utterly foolish 
and dangerous a thing it was to go chasing after Mr. Frodo in such a ridiculous manner as 
if he were as adept as a Ranger himself. He might even scream that pure love had driven 
him to do so, not the friendship kind no; but he’d make it clear somehow what type it 
was, and wouldn’t bat an eye. 
      “How is he?” Merry asked eagerly of Hamfast, running over to him. Hamfast 
stationed his staff to the ground and grunted as he stood.
      “The same you must have seen ‘im as back in Bree, if what I’ve heard of his state 
were true,” he stated blandly. “Mind, I haven’t been in to see him. I’ve only heard the 
poor Master… well… he’s calmed up now but I don’t know for how long… so…”
      Sam closed his eyes in woe. His Gaff almost never faltered on words, always 
knowing what to say. It must have shaken him up himself. He stepped forth, heading 
towards the hut. His Gaffer stuck out his staff suddenly, blocking his path. “NO, Samwise 
Gamgee. You won’t be seeing him.”
      “What…?” Sam said softly, unbelieving. His Gaffer shook his head slowly.
      “You heard. There’ll be no botherin’ done over the Master today. He’s only asked 
for one in his haze, though I don’t know how they caught it in all his mad blatherin’s,”
      Sam couldn’t believe it. He’d asked for one, and it hadn’t been him? “Who?”
      “Mr. Merry,”
      Sam turned to see Merry standing a few steps ahead of them all looking back at 
everyone with a look of shock. Sam averted his eyes when Merry looked at him; he 
couldn’t stand the pity that lie there.
      
      
      The nurses were inside Frodo’s room, telling him of his visitor. Promising it was 
Mr. Merry, Frodo stopped his carrying on of mumblings and sudden yelps and squealed 
in a sudden, skin tensing delight. It went silent now as the nurses conferred with each 
other a moment. Merry waited outside until the nurses came out. One closed the door, 
making him confused. “He wants all to knock,” she told him. He nodded ruefully. 
      Merry knocked on the door as instructed. He’d never had to knock before, even at 
Bag End. “Frodo?” he said gently, opening it fully yet slowly. He found Frodo standing 
on his tiptoes, looking out the window at the fields behind the hut. “Frodo?” he said 
again, a little louder. 
      “Merry?” he said without turning. Merry tried to find the voice that was Frodo’s, 
having difficulty. He sounded so weak and raspy.
      “Yes?”
      Still not facing him, Frodo backed away from the window. Merry could only see 
from the side of him; he wore a strange grin on his face, a trembling hand reaching out to 
him. Merry cleared his throat and took it. He was led then to the window, staring at 
Frodo. He winced slightly, seeing the large bruises on his cheek. “What… is it?” he 
finally spoke up, hoping it was just his cousin doing his usual daydreaming and the 
madness was slipping away.
      “You can see Brandy Hall from here. Isn’t that lovely?” 
      Merry looked out the window now, seeing only fields and a row of large elm 
trees. He didn’t know what to think on this, or what part of Frodo’s mind was dredging 
this up. “Um… yes.”
      “You see? Oh good… there’s the brook where we used to fish at. Never caught 
anything worth keeping, but it kept us searching for worms!” Frodo said brightly. Merry 
nodded quickly. “And… there’s the tree that Pip fell out of. Remember, remember that? 
We told him there were golden apples at the top and he believed us.”
      Merry nodded again, listening to the incessant giggling coming from Frodo’s lips. 
He stared at his beloved cousin, still so beautiful though his face be ravaged. He still 
couldn’t see it fully. “Frodo?”
      “Yes?” Frodo said, suddenly turning away from the window to face him entirely. 
Merry blinked hard, a wild twinkle in his eyes. It wasn’t the usual happiness that would 
make those blue orbs sparkle with delight; it was more of a yearning for something that 
wasn’t there. 
      “How… how are you?” Merry said, not thinking of anything else to say. Frodo 
nodded slowly. The smile died down a bit, making only a small crease of implied 
happiness.
      “I’m fine. Good.”
      “Good. We were all so worried about you. We’re so glad you’re home now, and 
that you’re safe.”
      “I am too. I’m glad we’re all safe. Let’s go to Brandy Hall.”
      The sudden grab of his hand, Frodo’s feet moving to the door made Merry freeze 
his feet solid to the ground. “Now Frodo, you’re here to get better.”
      “I know what can help me get better, and it’s at Brandy Hall.”
      “What’s at Brandy Hall?” Merry asked warily. Frodo’s face then cleared a 
moment, going blank.
      “Don’t… you remember?”
      “Remember what?”
      “I see it in your eyes every time we meet. It’s the same eyes that looked at me, 
way back when we were lads. By the fire, telling stories.”
      Merry felt as if he’d gone pale; why was he connecting this all this way? “Yes, I 
do remember. It was a long time ago however.”
      “Too long a time, Merry.” Frodo said. He moved to Merry now, taking his hand 
up to his mouth. He kissed it lightly, Merry watching his every move. Those lips turned, 
letting Frodo’s cheek brush against his wrist. Merry caught sight of his own, gasping 
under his breath at the large bandages that clung to it. 
      “Frodo…”
      “Remember? Remember when you kissed me for the first time?”
      “Yes, Frodo,” Merry said with a swallow. Frodo nodded slowly; Merry realized 
his feet had gone unfrozen yet numb, moving backwards. Frodo followed him however, 
still clinging to his arm. 
      “I do too. Sweetest of lips, I say unto you,” Frodo told him with a dry giggle. “I 
loved the way you moved on my skin when you kissed me, your hands were so busy. So 
busy.”
      “Frodo, are you hungry? I think elevensies are well past due-“
      “I can still remember how my ties sounded brushing on my stomach. And your 
hand. You’d said it was your first time touching a lad… down there…” Frodo said, 
putting his hand to his mouth in a bashful manner. “To this day, I can’t believe that.”
      “I’m really hungry, I think we should-“ Merry said, feeling something cold at the 
backs of his knees. He realized that he walked back into the bed, it’s metal posts finding 
his legs. Frodo now leaned in fast and close, putting his face into Merry’s neck. He 
sniffed long and deep, his movements making Merry remember all too clearly…
      “I remember you going inside of me, Merry. I do.”
      Merry flinched. “Frodo… love, that never happened,” he tried telling him, though 
the smile on Frodo’s face stayed there, unabashed.
      “You pushed me so hard even when I told you to stop…”
      “Frodo, no, no that never happened.”
      “I hated it at first. I really did. It hurt me so bad and I bled-“
      “FRODO.” Merry blurted out loudly, making him jump. His smiled disappeared 
in an instant, looking at Merry with empty eyes.
      “What? What’s… wrong?”
      “Cousin…” Merry said, putting his hands on his shoulders. “There’s someone 
who really wants and needs to see you. I think it would be wonderful for him to come in, 
instead of me,”
      “Who?” Frodo asked, cocking his head to the side. 
      “Samwise.”
      It grew silent now. Frodo stared at him with glazed eyes a few moments; Merry 
watched with desperation for him to recognize what he’d said; then the glazed look faded 
and a smile grew on his face. “There, y’see?” Merry said, trying to smile as well. Frodo 
kept his smile growing even wider until finally a hard chuckle escaped his lips. Merry’s 
faded instantly in Frodo’s bursting out of laughter. 
      “Samwise? Gamgee??” he said, a mix of shock and hilarity in his laughing voice. 
Merry despaired; no, what had gone wrong…
      “Of course, cousin. Of course.”
      “What does he want to see me for… OH! Let me guess! I forgot to pay him 
before I left!!”
      Merry shook his head. “No, Frodo. He wants to see you… because he loves you. 
You love him too…” Merry said, the last word getting lost betwixt statement and 
question. “Remember?”
      “Oh yes, sure, somewhere along those lines anyways. But you know, I’ve a right 
mind to wonder about him at times.”
      “Why?” Merry asked in shock.
      “Because! Merry, I am made out of nothing but wealth and riches, all that trite 
business. It’d seem like an everyday matter for those like us, but for Samwise Gamgee? 
He’d sure like to tuck into that for himself! Poor lad’s been grown up into poverty, the 
way he has yes, and what better way to climb out of that sort of mess than to climb into 
my bed?”
      “Frodo… you love each other. You know you do.”
      “NO WE DON’T!!” Frodo suddenly screamed out shrilly, a madness overtaking 
him completely with no warning whatsoever. Merry felt his teeth clack together in shock 
at the entire change. “Anyways, ANYWAYS, what could he have of me now?? Hmmm?? 
I’m not meant for anybody, not even YOU! But you’ll have me, yes, you will. You’ll 
have me.”
      Merry went to say something, anything to try to divert the subject; he didn’t care 
if he had to pretend that there were fish jumping in and out of that imaginary brook 
outside, he’d do it- but he found that he went mute now as Frodo took off his nightshirt, 
being clad in only thin under things underneath. He averted his eyes as Frodo backed 
himself into the wall by the door, looking at Merry slyly. “Frodo, don’t… get dressed, 
Frodo,”
      “Have me.”
      “I can’t. And I won’t, you’re not well.”
      “Tell me then, without any sort of misconception or lie that you’ve never dreamt 
of me in your bed, in the fields, brook, wherever. Tell me that.” Frodo told him, his voice 
low and menacing. “Tell me that if your parents hadn’t caught us on my last night in 
Brandy Hall, we would have been pure little virgins on my leave. Tell me you wouldn’t 
have fucked me.”
      He never used that word; it was meant for men, foul-mouthed, disgusting men. 
Frodo clucked his tongue with impatience. “Would you have fucked me, and let me fuck 
you, Merry? Would we have given that last night we had something for me to take to Bag 
End to remember? Would you have fucked me-“
      “YES!!” Merry suddenly burst forth with. A sudden sound outside made both of 
them falter breathing. Frodo turned slowly to the door, peering at it curiously. He put a 
finger to his mouth, the bright, innocently damaged smile returning to his lips. He put a 
hand on the knob and pulled it open quickly; there stood Sam, picking up some of 
Frodo’s books that he’d collected from Bag End to bring to him. 
      “CAUGHT YOU!!” Frodo cheerfully called, pointing a finger at him. Merry 
looked with awestruck horror at Sam’s face; it’d gone paler than Frodo’s skin, something 
he’d never seen. His eyes were filled with tears as he shook his head; Merry stepped 
forward as Frodo clapped with a strange joy, giggling to himself. “I KNEW it was you 
too! I can tell by the sound of your footsteps!”
      “Frodo, just step back, all right? Sam’s brought you some books-“
      “Mr. Frodo, I’d NEVER cared for your money or wealth, or any of that rubbish!!” 
Sam suddenly cried out to him. Merry took a deep breath, realizing he’d heard every 
word.
      “Don’t say that.” Frodo said, the smile gone once again. 
      “But it’s true!! Frodo, you’re my love, my one and only… I couldn’t bear with the 
thought that you’d think of me this way!!”
      “Don’t… SAY THAT.”
      “Why not?? It’s true, it’s true, I swear on me mother’s grave-“
      Merry moved to the doorway, intent on getting in betwixt the two of them. He 
didn’t get the chance; Frodo began screaming so loud Merry’s ears felt like bleeding. The 
howl was nothing more than rage and absolute madness, directed solely on Sam who 
stood in mute shock at the scene. Merry was soon useless to anything, even Frodo’s 
words as he howled out in Elvish instead of the common tongue. He hoped Sam didn’t 
understand anything he was saying yet judging by the look on his face, beginning to 
crumble under the weight of heavy tears, he had. Frodo’s head moved back and forth 
slowly, humming a song under his breath casually. He crossed his arms, staring Sam 
down with an almost taunting look. If Merry had given leave for even just one moment 
that this was not really Frodo, he would have slapped him square in the face for what pain 
he gave Sam now. 
      “Sam… go on, all right… I’ll meet you outside.”
      “I won’t be outside Mr. Merry.” Sam said quickly, escaping the ominous glare 
Frodo had set upon him by dropping the books and running down the small hall, his 
hands at his face. Merry went to go after him, his foot halfway out of the door-
      “What did I do?”
      He almost felt angry as he stopped mid-run, closing his eyes tight. He took a deep 
breath. Turning around he tried changing his expression into that of a calm, happy one. 
“Dear Cousin, I forgot… I have to bake a pie for a sale going on in town. Promised I’d do 
it,” he said; why he chose this as an excuse to leave bewildered him, but it seemed 
absolutely logical to Frodo who nodded with a knowing look on his face.
      “Apple or blueberry?”
      “Blueberry,”
      “Oh, my favorite! Will you bring me some later?”
      “Yes, Frodo,” Merry said, holding back the tears welling in his throat. Without 
another word he shut the door tight, leaving Frodo in the room. He jogged quickly to the 
outside, hoping Sam would be there.
      How could he not be… his threat to just up and leave where no one could find 
him was hindered by the fact that his Gaff, along with Pippin and Fatty and half the town 
were eating elevensies in front of the hut. Hamfast was fighting to get Sam to face him, 
grabbing his shoulders and trying to push his own eyes to Sam’s. Everyone watched on; 
Merry could only imagine the humiliation Sam felt running off into a crowd, crying and 
wailing. He saw Merry approaching him, mouth gaping open in trying to find words. 
Sam’s face went to stone in an instant, going from heated with sadness to cold with 
intensity. 
      “Sam… I…”
      “Oh no, Mr. Merry. My full apologies for warming Frodo’s bed whilst you waited 
for him in Buckland. I never should have intruded for stepping out of place.” He said, 
loud enough for all to hear. Merry felt dizzy; he didn’t dare look his Gaffer’s way, not 
knowing if he could handle everything thrown at him at once. He was still without words 
as Sam went on. “I’m SORRY I thought he loved me, I’m SORRY I dragged you into the 
mess of Bree, I’M SORRY I HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING 
A’TALL!!!”
      Merry hadn’t cried so much in all his life, and the tears that sprang from his eyes 
only added to the new record. Sam turned and went to run off.
      “SAMWISE GAMGEE.”
      There would be only one voice that could still him, and it was Sam’s Gaffers’. He 
stopped but didn’t turn. Hamfast didn’t expect him to. “Go to Bag End and tend the 
gardens. You’ll get the switchin’ of yer life if I come by and don’t see any dirt on yer 
knees. Y’hear, boy?”
      Sam began to run; it was in the direction of Bag End anyways, easing Merry ever 
so slightly. Yet the last thing he’d wanted to do was turn and see the crowd, all mouths 
gaping wide open in shock at the confessions Sam had given to them.
      
      
      The only real consolation was that no one there understood.
      “YOU DID THIS TO ME YOU ROTTEN PIECE OF FILTH YOU DID THIS TO 
ME YOU ROTTEN PIECE OF FILTH YOU DID THIS TO ME…”
      Sam’s eyes burned both from tears and the sun beaming down on him. He found 
himself wishing he’d never learned the elvish language, to be ignorant rather than feeling 
like he’d been gutted of everything that kept him alive. He ripped at the stubborn weeds, 
grown further into the ground more than usual in his absence. His lack of care caused him 
to absent-mindedly tear at a sprig of blossoms; before he tossed them aside he realized 
what he’d done. They were Moonglow…
      Violet’s gift lie in his hands, the very same that he’d practically sworn by blood 
he would care for the most. Comfort in the form of a flower now ripped at the roots. He 
breathed sharp, trying to force it back down, hoping he hadn’t damaged the thin, delicate 
strands at the bottom. He suddenly realized how futile it was as it drooped heavily onto 
its side, showing a clear, ripped bend in the stem.
      He’d failed him. He’d left him alone. He’d given up so quickly on just their first 
night, preferring selfish despair to all that mattered. He’d gotten himself so drunk on ale 
he wasn’t coherent enough to realize Frodo had been found six hours before his eyes 
opened from his intoxicated state. And now, he’d torn out Frodo’s beautiful little 
blossoms, given to him to make him smile when things had been presumably, at their 
worst… the next minute went by in slow motion.
      He was going to the shed. He was going to get his largest shovel he could find, 
take it in his hands and walk back out. By the time his Gaff came by to check his knees, 
the entire garden of Bag End would be demolished into bits of green, red, yellow, white, 
purple, blue… everything would be gone. There’d be more than enough dirt upon Sam, 
knees and otherwise and for the first time in all his life he would laugh at his da, yelling 
that his knees were dirty and he could leave now. 
      Shovel in hand Sam whirled back to the gardens. He’d start at the very back first 
where no one could see him; where no one could run and stop him from the madness 
compelling him to simply destroy. His sore feet stomped their way up the small hill, 
crossing over random flowerbeds that lie in his path. That’s when an unexpected obstacle 
caught his toes on his left foot, making him lose his footing entirely, falling with a loud 
‘flump’ on the ground. The shovel fell away from him as he gasped for breath, having the 
wind knocked clear from his chest. He closed his eyes as his fingers grasped the soil 
underneath them, anger overcoming him. He would turn and rip out whatever had tripped 
him as his first act of the ‘Fall of the Bag End Gardens’, an event that would add as a 
crescendo to his screaming out the nature of not only his, but Merry’s relationship with 
Frodo. He turned onto his side and reached to his feet.
      Trip-drops. 
      Sam stopped his hand just as it grasped the thin stems, threatening to strangle the 
little blue and purple bells dangling over his callous fingers. He stared at them with 
widened eyes…
      “Ah, trip-drops,”
      “Trip-drops? That’s a funny name,”
      “Yea. Named that because people trip over their beauty,”
      Sam’s hand slowly unclenched the flowers, carefully pulling away. He sat back, 
not taking his eyes off of the gentle blossoms swaying from positioning back where they 
were. There was no damage…
      And Sam remembered it as if it were yesterday, being a lad of only fourteen years 
of age.
      When he himself tripped.
      “OH! Mr. Frodo, I… I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d come out here!!”
      “Hah! No need to be shy, Samwise. I always come out here like this, I expect a 
wanderer every now and again, wouldn’t be fair to expect these woods to be all my own. 
Besides; I’m not high on the list when it comes to modesty.”
      Sam’s hand clenched, remembering the feel of his fishing pole as his grip 
tightened…
      “Modesty maybe, but… naked as a jay bird? Don’t think that’s modesty. More 
like humiliation,”
      “What’s to be humiliated about? It’s my body, isn’t it, none can claim it!”
      “For you, perhaps. Most definitely,” Sam murmured to himself now, his lips 
quivering into an almost-smile at his insecurities.
      “Well… I’d planned on fishing, but I’m supposin’ all the fish have gone and been 
scared off!”
      “Oh Sam, I’m sorry!! I’ll get out this minute, the water will still after awhile,”
      “NO!”
      “I’d meant yes my love,”
      “I mean, go on ahead. I’ll just… sit here.”
      “Doing nothing. Oh, I feel terrible. Wait; you’ve learned to read now, haven’t 
you?”
      “Simple things.”
      “Well, take the liberty of reading the book I’d brought. It’s not all that 
complicated.”
      Sam curled his legs to his chest, taking his calves gently to his arms, cradling 
them. He took solace in the remembrance of such lovely words… a story of elves passing 
through the woods, finding a young hobbit babe and taking him in… brought up to be 
one of them, still a hobbit but glowing with a luminescence only Frodo could describe in 
words. He’d read as much as he could while taking sweet glances at Frodo and his 
swimming, hair coming up over his face in a messy pattern, covering his eyes and mouth 
making him splutter. Before he could become amused it would turn to awe as Frodo 
would dunk himself under for just one single moment, coming up again with his hair 
draping to the back, sliding over his neck and shoulders… oh by the Gods, was he this 
prized hobbit-elf prince, hailed over all as he took the throne of the Elvin kingdom? 
      “Done already?”
      “No, but… it’s too beautiful to take in one sitting.”
      “Ah, I take that as a compliment,”
      His hands had brought the pages to his face closer… 
      “This… Mr. Frodo, it’s your handwriting!”
      “Yes, it is.”
      “You wrote this?? Is it about you, is this where you came from??”
      “Oh, no. I’m just a simple hobbit like you.”
      There was no way anyone, especially Sam could describe Frodo as ‘simple’.
      “But it’s fun to have the liberties of writing out what could have been,”
      Sam had left shortly after that; he’d only needed the glimpses he could make out 
along the water, disappointed so gravely in only seeing from the chest up. But it was his 
words, both spoken and writ that Sam had found the most compelling, the most beautiful 
feature of him that day. And suddenly Frodo’s eyes glowed even more blue when he’d 
smile to Sam in the mornings, his skin giving off an eerie extra sheen of alabaster and 
cream. To think that Sam had come full circle in realization not less than a few months 
before, and it was almost eight years to the date that he’d come across him in that pond.
      He gazed at the trip-drops a few moments longer, remembering how it all was 
before Frodo was made to lose his mind in just three days time.
      Made to lose his mind.
      Sam suddenly felt so ashamed. Did he honestly sit here and believe that his 
beloved Frodo really meant what he’d spoken, as if he had a clear mind to discern 
anything? “You still love me, and I know it.” He said aloud, putting his chin deep into his 
arm.  “And I’ll give everything I have to prove it to you, even if I die trying. I love you 
Frodo Baggins. Ain’t no madman saying that, it’s me,”
      “I’ve always thought it’d come to this, son.”
      Sam’s head jerked upwards; he saw his Gaffer standing there over him, looking as 
rigid as ever. He immediately stood on shaking legs; he knew everything. He’d said it all 
in front of the hut, in front of him and everyone with ears. His head suddenly dipped 
downwards, panicking.
      “No need for checkin’, they’re dirty all right.”
      It was Sam’s firm belief that his father was psychic. Maybe he was some elf 
enchanter in disguise. “They are. But not from workin’.”
      “What of then, Samwise?” his Gaffer gruffly said, moving to lower himself down 
on the grass. He patted the spot on his side; Sam cautiously lowered down again, keeping 
a slight distance. 
      “I meant to demolish these gardens.” He admitted. His Gaff was nodding slowly.
      “Figgered that in seeing the poor Moonglow o’er there,” he said, pointing with his 
staff. It was silent as Sam dreamed… or rather, ‘nightmare-d’ over what possible 
punishments lie ahead of them once at home in even just the thought crossing his mind to 
crush the gardens his own da had worked on years and years before he’d even been a 
twinkle in his eye. Before Sam could come up with lame apologies for his behavior, his 
Gaffer cleared his throat. “Samwise… do you know what I’d meant about ‘getting those 
knees dirtied up’ in the first place?”
      All the lessons of working life went through his head as if they’d been writ down 
for him to memorize. Seeing as his father had no use for pens and paper it was only 
through the constant mentioning of his principles. “No lad ever got no dirt on their knees 
by sittin’ with their thumbs in their mouths. Good honest workin’, Samwise, that’s the 
plain and simple truth for us. I want to see you covered in mud rather than smelling of 
fancy ‘spensive perfooms-“
      “See that spot over by the tulips?” his Gaffer pointed with his staff. Sam looked 
over to the plain spot where a layer of white rocks covered the ground, making a pathway 
out to the annuals. 
      “Yea.” Sam mumbled, seeing nothing special about it. 
      “That’s where I got my own knees dirty, many times.”
      “Along with every other patch of dirt ‘round here, da,”
      “Didn’t know many names of Gods well back when I was yer age. I’d sing to 
myself and give thanks to whoever gave me voice, but never tagged names to that thanks. 
So I made up me own God. Never had a name he did, I just would say ‘He’ or ‘Him’. 
And he was kind and gentle and wise. He looked a lot like Master Bilbo hisself.” His 
Gaffer explained. “Probably because… I was so madly in love with him my brain 
wouldn’t screw on straight in the morn’.”
      Sam’s eyes widened, drawing back to stare at his da. “Wh… What??” he replied 
incredulously. His Gaffer sniggered to himself.
      “One of those servant-Master crushes. The kind where I’d see his kind smile and 
find something for me, just fer me. Or when he’d make me his famous apple crumble jus’ 
cos’ he knew how much I liked it. Was it really, really love? That I can’ tell ya, son. 
Because I was too damned scared off by how I thought normal folk should be, and 
normal folk weren’t me and what I thought and did towards the Master. So I felt ‘shamed 
for it.”
      “Why?”
      His Gaffer outright laughed now. “You’re so damned young, you still have a 
pumpkin for a head. ‘Cept it ain’t got seeds to rub against each other yet to form reasons 
from the way things are,” he explained, making Sam frown slightly at being compared 
with a giant fruit. He continued on anyways. “It just weren’t right. And people started 
their geese like ‘havior, o’ course, and began talking like we were already doin’ what we 
weren’t. Me and him would laugh about it, when secretly I wanted it to be true. So I came 
out here near every day and prayed to my own made up God to bring us closer to really, 
really see if it were meant to happen. I wanted it so badly but wouldn’t speak a word 
aloud to him. But I believed so strong in what I was doin’ and went ahead with it for 
years. And they passed and passed and passed, until I met yer ma, and had you lot o’ 
trouble children.”
      Sam smiled warmly, knowing full well what easy children he and his siblings 
were. “We were your God-sends and you know it, da,”
      “Yes, yes… but… a few days before Master Bilbo’s last birthday party, he took 
me out to the Ivy Bush for some drinks. I thought it odd as he usually didn’t go out to 
drink, but he wanted to treat me, so I done let ‘im. Once I had a belly full of sweet ale I 
went and after near forty years just poured on out as easy as the ale did in my throat. And 
he told me the most amazing thing.”
      “What?”
      “That after I’d leave he’d go to my favorite spot and pray quietly to HIS own 
Gods, my favorite spot appearin’ to be none other than those tulip beds o’er there.” His 
Gaffer explained. “And all along there we were, prayin’ and prayin’, all on the same 
exact thing; that one of us would step up and throw caution to the wind just to have each 
other the way we wished.”
      Sam was deeply amazed by this. His father was now a reflection of all the fears he 
held so close to his and Frodo’s core; that they’d be shamed or ridiculed or worse. 
Whatever could be worse than the last few months, especially days… perhaps never 
seeing each other again would be, or destroying one of the last things they’d shared 
together to create a new, fresh home for flowers to grow. Neither was something Sam 
couldn’t turn back on and start anew, and a great weight lifted off his shoulders in the 
realizations. His Gaffer’s hand clamped tight over his shoulder, pulling him gently closer. 
“Now you listen boy,” he said in the familiar ominous tone Sam had grown so 
accustomed to that it barely scared him anymore; nothing to fear, not now. “There are 
two ways you can get your knees dirtied up. One, you can go over to those tulips or 
wherever you like… trip-drops, what not,” he said with a small grin on his lips and an 
eyebrow raised. “Or, you can get your knees dirty in goin’ back on down the road from 
whence you came and start seein’ what you can of your Master’s true feelings within his 
condition. Which is it for you, son?”
      Sam’s eyes gazed downwards to his da’s own knees; they were gnarled up as 
usual, looking uncomfortable. The moaning and groaning that would come from his 
bedroom in the morning, just with the act of standing was enough for Sam to leap to his 
feet and go off running. “SAMWISE!”
      He stopped dead and turned back, his breath faltering from a new excitement 
already. “Yes, da?”
      “You just be good to him. And make sure that he’s good to you. That’s all I’d 
ever ask of you; it don’t matter what form it takes. Just be good to each other.”
      “As always, da…”
      “OH, and Samwise??”
      Sam turned his head, growing impatient yet amused. “YES, da???”
      “You go off tellin’ this to yer siblings and I won’t care what state yer knees are in 
when I hear their gapin’ mouths eatin’ air.” He told him as he tapped his staff firmly onto 
the ground in a loud thump, unable to hold back his smile.
      
      
      “Master Samwise, I beg of you…”
      “T’ain’t no beggin’ to be had to me today, Missus,” 
      The nurse followed him closely down the hallway, gathering her skirts to keep up 
with him. “You do NOT know what he’s been like. We’re half ready to send him to 
another institution!! We’ve not the resources to deal with his case.”
      “I have.” Sam said firmly. She now flung herself in front of him as he reached the 
door, covering it with her arms. They stood there a moment, his arms crossing and raising 
his eyebrows. She made a loud pant of dread, putting her hand to her head.
      “Just… knock. And don’t say I didn’t warn you,”
      Sam gladly stepped forward, her leaving in a rush, probably to have an early 
lunch to avoid dealing with whatever mess she thought he’d be making. He knocked and 
waited only a moment before stepping in. 
      “Pie already?” Frodo’s excited voice rang out. In seeing Sam his smile faded, the 
expectation of pie being deflated. “You’re not Merry.”
      “No. Who am I, anyways?”
      “Samwise. My gardener. Did you forget that?”
      “Almost.” Sam said quietly. He extended his left hand, holding a pot of trip-
drops. “Do you remember these?” he asked. Frodo peered at them, crossing his arms. His 
fingertips went to his forehead, tracing a lock of hair that hung there slowly. His eyes 
traveled away, going to look past him. Sam kept his gaze solid on Frodo’s face, 
unwavering. “I’ll go put them by the window.”
      “Don’t block the view of the creek. I might have to tell you no.”
      “Fine, just fine.” Sam said, realizing he didn’t know where this ‘creek’ existed to 
Frodo. He moved them awkwardly along the windowsill, growing less sure of himself for 
a moment. Frodo groaned in protest as he stood back and walked over, fixing them to his 
liking. He stood back next to Sam and stared a moment. 
      “A little too blue.”
      “You’d told me you liked the blue. You’re having Merry’s blueberry pie, aren’t 
you?”
      “Yes.”
      “Well, if you think these flowers are blue just imagine what a whole mouthful of 
blueberries will make of you,” Sam told him, smiling. Frodo looked at him with a bored 
face.
      “You always were so simple minded.” He said coldly. Sam’s smile faded slightly, 
Frodo turning away to go sit on his bed. He began to inspect a little beetle that had landed 
on the sheets. Sam bit his lips then cleared his throat. 
      “Mr. Frodo?”
      “Mmm?” 
      “What was the weather like in Bree?” Sam asked. Frodo stilled a moment as he 
registered the question. For whatever reason, Sam felt the need to ask this question; it 
was the first thing he could think of to ask while he’d walked the way here. 
      “Sunny. Lots of sun.” Frodo finally replied, a triumphant smile on his face. “And 
the gardens were just like my own. They’d made sure of that. They did, you know, all for 
me.”
      “Really?”
      “Mmhmm,”
      “Herr said there weren’t no gardens where you were though, Frodo.”
      Frodo crinkled his brow as he looked up from his new insect friend to Sam. 
“Who’s Herr?”
      “One of the Rangers.”
      “Oh. Rangers. Rangers, Rangers.”
      “Did he lie about the gardens?”
      “Of course,” Frodo said matter-of-factly. “They all did.”
      “It rained every day you were in Bree, all but one.”
      “Oh.” Frodo said blankly, looking back to the sheets. He jerked his head back up 
with a wide-eyed look. “Oh! That was the day I went outside!”
      “You went outside, Mr. Frodo?”
      “Yes, I did!!” Frodo said cheerfully. His head began bobbing side to side. “Small 
living room area, hallway, and closet, kitchen then the back door. Small living room area, 
hallway, and closet, kitchen then the back door. Small living room area, hallway, and 
closet, kitchen then the back door…”
      As disturbing as this sing-song voice of Frodo’s was Sam endured it, the words 
repeating themselves over and over until Frodo finally began slowing, watching Sam 
mouth along with him. “… Then… the back door…” he finished in a murmur. Sam 
swallowed as he sat across from Frodo on the small bench nailed to the wall. Sam 
remembered the soap Strider had given him the morning of their leave, figuring it was 
Frodo’s. 
      “You know what smells I like?” he asked. Frodo’s eyes regained their twinkle, 
weaving his fingers together in interest. “Rosemary and lavender.”
      “Oh!” Frodo remarked in surprise, pointing a finger to Sam. He began wagging it 
at him. “You naughty, naughty thing. Soap!”
      “Yea, soap. Didn’t I… make you a bar?”
      “You sure did! I took a bath with it just the other-“
      Sam froze; Frodo’s face dove back into absolute despair, the first time since he’d 
gotten there. He’d hit something so central here, though he didn’t know what. “You... had 
a bath, then?”
      Frodo’s lips shook. Sam watched him raise his hands up, not looking at them. “S-
Sam…”
      “Yes?”
      “Can- can you get me water?”
      “Of course, Mr. Frodo. In a mug?”
      “No. No, no, no, don’t be STUPID!!” Frodo suddenly bellowed. Sam was 
somehow braced for this, his face fighting to remain calm. Frodo breathed through his top 
teeth. “Get me some Goddamned water, in a basin and a sponge and a rag.”
      “As you wish,” Sam said. He left the room, leaving the door open a crack as he 
moved to the wall. Oh… this was so hard, so hard to see and do and feel-
      “CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR!!”
      Sam did so in one quick motion, shocked at his lovely Frodo’s mouth uttering 
such nasty words. He walked down to the water pump at the end of the hall; he could see 
faces peering down to him, watching his every move. He ignored them completely as he 
searched around for a water basin; after finding one in a nearby bathing room along with 
a rag and sponge he returned to the pump and began pouring large streams of water into 
it. He nearly ran back to the room, careful to not spill on the floor in his haste. His hand 
grabbed the knob then stopped; he balanced the basin on his knee, taking up his free hand 
to knock. 
      “Come in, come in,” Frodo said in a hiss, his frame bent over behind the door. 
Sam rushed through, hearing the door slam behind him. Frodo now had his back against 
it, panting. “You’re sure you have everything.”
      “Water in a basin, sponge, cloth.” Sam said quickly. Frodo nodded frantically, 
rubbing his hands together. 
      “If I close my eyes THIS time you’re going to tell me to keep them open. I need 
to see everything I’m doing THIS time. I’m going to do it right THIS time.”
      “Yes, yes you are. You’re going to do everything perfectly fine, trust me,” Sam 
said, trying to realize what he was doing. “Just… tell me everything that’s happening, AS 
it’s happening. Can you do that, Mr. Frodo?”
      Frodo looked upon him with an unsure gaze. “If you’ll tell me to keep my eyes 
open when I need to keep my eyes open.”
      “I already said I would, I promise.”
      “Okay.” Frodo softly said. He paced a moment, pointing around the room 
randomly. He stopped in the corner of the room and slowly sat down. “The water is 
warm. Very nice and warm. Wesley is standing over there looking for something. Can 
you see him?” Frodo asked, pointing. Sam nodded.
      “Clear as sunshine, Mr. Frodo.”
      “Okay okay okay.” Frodo panted out. “He’s telling me he wants to take me away 
from this place, but I know better. I think Mr. Miller is right when he says he’s much 
worse, he’d do much worse to me. He’s not very nice at all. He’s told me he’ll break my 
pretty neck.”
      Sam swallowed hard. “Yes, Mr. Frodo. I don’t like him neither.”
      “No, don’t like him.” Frodo told him, shaking his head. “He’s sitting on the tub 
now, telling me this, and I tell him to go ahead. Because I want to do nasty things back to 
him. I touch him because I know he wants me to, sooo badly,” Frodo said, putting out his 
hand. 
      “Where?”
      “I’m showing you, on his leg. See?”
      “Oh yes, I’m sorry,”
      “He sees me naked when I bend back because he’s looking at me that way. THAT 
way. And I ask him if he’s ever heard of Brandy Hall and he says a bit. So I tell him 
that’s where I came from and I’d been a whore, just like Mr. Miller was making me.”
      Sam bit his lip. “All right.”
      “I wasn’t!! No Sam, I promise you, Merry and I, that was it! I swear to you on my 
life I wasn’t!!” Frodo desperately told him. Sam nodded slowly; something came through 
to Frodo with clarity here, he knew that. “And and I didn’t want to be a whore either. I 
just wanted to get out, so I pretended to so Wesley would touch me. See?”
      “Yes, I do.” Sam said, his voice growing strained. Frodo eased back now, nodding 
faster again.
      “So I sit up again and move to him, and he keeps asking me what I did in Brandy 
Hall. I wanted to vomit but I kissed him anyways, like this…” Frodo said, placing lips on 
his invisible Wesley. Sam watched as the scene played out here, seeming to be in it’s 
entirety. Even having to fake it, Frodo’s mouth moved so sweetly. “THEN,” Frodo called 
out loudly. “I look over his shoulder as he bites down on mine…” he said, pausing; he 
took the collar of his nightshirt and pulled; Sam jumped at the sudden rip noise. He 
gasped at seeing Frodo’s bare shoulder, covered in dark purple teeth marks. He regained 
composure for Frodo’s sake; he was taking him somewhere. He was pointing right now, 
slowly to the washbasin he’d placed there. “The wash basin. Do you see it?” Frodo 
whispered. Sam nodded slowly. Frodo reached forward with slow motions, making sure 
to moan. “YES Wesley, oh yes… lower…Mmm…” he said in a low moan, emulating 
more of the scene. “I put myself more out this way, pretending that I was overcome by 
his touch and I had to bend to it…” he explained in the same low whisper. Sam saw his 
fingertips clasp themselves over the basin, Frodo’s face smiling wide. He brought it 
slowly over to him, careful to not bump into Wesley who had managed to snake around 
his belly. “Yes Wesley… good… good…”
      Now Sam jumped fully in hearing the loud metal clang the basin made, along 
with the splashing of the water within it’s shallow depths. He was glad that Frodo’s eyes 
were closed to not see his-
      “Mr. Frodo, open your eyes!!”
      They flashed open again. “Thank you Sam, I love you Sam…” he murmured back 
to him. Sam’s lips parted. 
      “I love you too, Frodo love,” he barely managed to get out without choking. 
      “He’s not knocked out cold, he’s still on his feet. Now YELL, as loud as you can 
Sam, ‘FALL BACKWARDS!’”
      “FALL BACKWARDS!!” Sam bellowed. Frodo watched with bated breath ahead 
of him soundlessly until he sighed with relief. 
      “Good. He didn’t hit his head.”
      “On what?”
      Frodo looked back at Sam. “On the tub. See, I’m doing it right THIS time, and 
THIS time Wesley doesn’t die.”
      “Wesley died?” Sam asked, a hollow sound to his voice. Frodo nodded quick, 
frowning.
      “Yes. Don’t be stupid.” He said, turning back around. “So now he’s backwards. 
But I’m still really scared, and I try to close my eyes a lot so if I do tell me to open them.”
      “Of course, of course.”
      “I get out of the tub like this…” Frodo said, sliding over the ‘edge’. He now leans 
on all fours. “Is he bleeding, Sam?”
      “Yes.” Sam said, knowing that Wesley had to have been. Frodo’s eyes flutter, 
threatening to close. “Frodo, don’t… don’t close your eyes,” Sam said, voice now 
faltering completely. 
      “Thank you Sam. I love you Sam.”
      “I love you, Frodo love.”
      “I can see it. I can see the blood. He didn’t smack his head on the tub but it’s right 
there, and some got on my hand.” He said; he suddenly froze looking around himself. 
“Sam… where did the water go?”
      Sam looked around Frodo, seeing the splashed remnants of the basin. “Do you 
need more?”
      “WHERE DID THE FUCKING WATER GO??”
      “Mr. Frodo, don’t worry! I’ll get more!!” Sam now panicked, watching Frodo 
bend down, putting his head on the floor and wailing.
      “Hurry Sam, he’s coming.” He said in a high-pitched whine. Sam pitched himself 
out the door, making sure to shut it with his one free hand, the other carrying the basin.
      Sam never ran so fast, it’d seem though he’d said that to himself hundreds of 
times these past few months. He got to the pump and rushed out four splashes then ran 
back, hearing water falling on the floor behind him. He knocked on the door and Frodo 
opened it, grabbing him by the arm. Sam had to clench the basin in his hands to keep 
Frodo’s sudden grasp on him from making the basin fall. Frodo grabbed it from him, Sam 
letting it go. He put it down on the floor and began scrubbing his hands with the water 
and sponge. Frodo worked tirelessly, his breaths coming sharp and fast. 
      “NOW.” He said, getting on all fours again. “I’m carrying the rag with me, 
careful that it isn’t TOO wet to leave marks. My knees leave a few red streaks so I wipe 
them up, all the way into Wesley’s bedroom. And he’s not dead but passed out; I can’t 
ask him for his clothes so I take them. Just as I’m ready to run away Mr. Miller comes 
back…”
      It went silent as Frodo froze in the middle of the floor. Sam watched with wet 
eyes as Frodo began looking around the room. He then dove underneath the bed. He 
poked his head out and pulled a bit of the sheet down. “You’re Griffin Miller.”
      Sam’s head boomed at the words. He recalled Frodo’s elvish… “YOU DID THIS 
TO ME YOU ROTTEN PIECE OF FILTH”… “Frodo, who’s a rotten piece of filth?” he 
asked quickly, hoping he didn’t interrupt Frodo’s scene.
      “Griffin is! And you’re coming so yell for Wesley!!”
      Sam cleared his throat. “Wesley!”
      “Again, louder, start coming up the stairs!”
      “Wesley!”
      “Now you’re up here and you go to find me, I’m not there in the room. The ropes 
are empty, I’m not tied up something is wrong. Yell for Wesley even louder!”
      “WESLEY!!”
      “GOOD! You go to the bathroom, go in there, go in there…”
      Sam walked to where Frodo had been in his imaginary tub. 
      “What do you see?”
      “Wesley,” Sam told him without pause. 
      “You see he’s still alive but you can’t find me. Because there are no handprints 
on the floor this time. I wiped them up.”
      “Good for you.” Sam said quietly, his voice shivering. “What was on your 
hands?”
      “Blood. Run downstairs and go look for me.”
      Sam went back to where he’d started and stopped.
      “Open the door, slam it hard, you’re going out to Bree to try and find me.”
      Sam opened the door and shut it again hard. Frodo emerged from under the bed 
slowly. He went to where Wesley was and knelt down on shaky legs. Sam stood shock 
still as Frodo began crying softly now. “Wesley… I didn’t want you to hit your head like 
that…” Frodo pathetically cried out. “I just wanted to get away. I wanted to hit you and 
have you wake up later, not die. I’m sorry Mr. Miller was so mean to you.”
      Sam brought his hand to his mouth, covering the soaked lips with his fingers. He 
hadn’t realized that he’d been crying until now. He quickly wiped his face as Frodo stood 
back up. “Tell me to close my eyes Sam. I’m going to try to find you.”
      “Close your eyes, Frodo love.” Sam said. 
      Frodo did so, shivering breaths escaping his mouth. He took a few slow steps, 
holding his hands out in front of him. “I’m afraid here, Sam. There’s lots of big men 
around, they’re all around me.”
      “Your Sam is right there with them, just come and find me.” Sam said. 
      “Each time someone was in my mouth, I’d pretend it was you. It helped me a 
great deal.” Frodo stated simply. “One I couldn’t. He was too big.”
      “Come find me, Frodo love.” Sam irked out, barely audible as he held out his 
hands. Frodo took a couple more steps, growing closer and closer. It remained quiet in 
the room as Frodo took one, then two, then three small steps until his fingers found Sam’s 
outstretched palm. He laced his fingers into Sam’s, pressing his palm to his. He smiled as 
Sam drew him in, pulling him close to his chest. Sam stared a moment at the look of bliss 
Frodo wore on his face, as if it had never left. 
      “Tell me to open my eyes, Sam.”
      Sam put a hand to Frodo’s cheek, touching tenderly at the bruised bone. “Open 
your eyes, Frodo love,” he said. As if watching a chrysalis opening to see a butterfly 
come out and spread it’s wings for the very first time, Frodo’s sparkling blue eyes 
fluttered open, the long lashes drawing back to sink his sights directly into Sam’s own 
eyes. 
      “You’re my Sam. Aren’t you.”
      “That I am, Frodo love.”
      Frodo nodded; his smile began to leave him now. Sam braced himself for another 
fit of madness and cursing, seeing the crinkle in Frodo’s brow deepen. His lips parted and 
Sam awaited the howl; he would only hold him closer, tighter, until his screams subsided 
into nothing. 
      “Sam?”
      His voice… it was so sad and soft. It curled around Sam’s cheeks and into his 
ears. “Yes?”
      Frodo’s head shook slowly. “It didn’t happen this way. Did it.”
      Sam outright sobbed and shook his head. “No it didn’t.” he stated quickly, his 
eyes overflowing. Frodo stepped back now, his hand leaving Sam’s. He backed his way 
to the bed, sitting upon it, his eyes going blank. No… not when he was so close. He 
wouldn’t have it. He would make Frodo talk about it, and it would hurt so much for both 
of them… but he would talk of it.
      “Did you really kill Wesley, Frodo?”
      Frodo swallowed. “He fell. After I hit him. Slipped on water.”
      “Then no, you didn’t kill Wesley.”
      Frodo closed his eyes. “I didn’t kill Wesley.”
      Sam nodded and walked over, sitting next to Frodo gently. He took his hand 
again. “Lie down, Frodo,” he told him, helping him to move to the pillows. Frodo jerked 
onto his side, putting his hands to his chest in tight balls. Sam leaned down to him, 
caressing his curls at the brow. “Do you know… what happened?” he asked. “What the 
Rangers found… Mr. Miller doing to you?”
      Frodo stared blankly ahead of him, to where Wesley had been lying. Sam almost 
thought he went catatonic now, until he saw the slight nod Frodo gave.
      “Yes.”
      “Do you know… that I love you Frodo?” Sam said, trying to keep his voice from 
faltering and failing miserably. Frodo’s eyes twitched upwards at him, gazing on Sam’s 
face. His eyes were not absent of reason any longer as they filled with tears. 
      “Yes. How could I not?” he said, tears sliding over his reddened lips. Sam chose 
this moment to bury his face into Frodo’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. He grasped 
at Frodo’s arms, pulling them over his sides. They fell limp at first then clutched Sam 
tight, pushing him into Frodo’s chest. “Oh Sam…” Frodo’s familiar wistful voice spoke 
his name as it always had. “I was terrified that I would never see you again.”
      Sam choked into Frodo’s hair, kissing at his ear. “I love you, Frodo love. More 
than I can stand. More than I can stand.”
      Frodo’s own chest heaved, emptying pain in waves of tears. Sam clutched him 
closer, pulling his legs up to his as they embraced. “If I asked for a kiss… would you be 
too scared to?”
      Sam’s head shot up. “Ask me.”
      “Will you kiss me, Sam?”
      “Yes.”
      “I love you so dearly Sam.”
      Sam bent forward, placing his lips upon Frodo’s gently, taking in the scent of 
flesh he’d missed so much. It didn’t matter what had occurred, not in the ways it had 
been intended to mean. He was still here, and he’d be here; Sam feared the worst when it 
came to further outbursts but he’d take them as they came, always there to ease Frodo’s 
fall with whatever he could offer. There was more pain and more rough roads ahead that 
not even Frodo’s soft tongue tracing his lip now could erase. But he could enjoy the here 
and now and take his hand, knowing neither of them had to be alone.